


to want

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, author typical levels of angst and happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: Behind the glass of the recording booth, Donghyuck grins at Jaemin. He’s wearing a bulky set of headphones and the glare from the lights gives him a sheen like he’s an example photo in a glossy textbook.'Top ten people that will ruin your life.'Jaemin smiles back, his heart fluttering.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 134





	to want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkwinwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/gifts).



> thank u so much for the comm!! ilu shauna, it's an honour to write for you! <3
> 
> thanks jesse for beta reading <3

It's like this:

Donghyuck on the stage, their hands linked when they bow. A daisy chain of children with lights in their eyes. 

Laughing in the recording studio. Donghyuck burps into the mic and Jisung lets out a loud whine, punching Jeno for no reason apart from he’s the one closest to him. He’s lucky in that regard, because if it were Renjun he’d probably have thrown something at him. Jeno just smiles. He's too fond of him — too soft on him. Jisung will always get away with it if it’s with Jeno.

Behind the glass, Donghyuck grins at Jaemin. He’s wearing a bulky set of headphones and the glare from the lights gives him a sheen like he’s an example photo in a glossy textbook 

_ ‘Top ten people that will ruin your life.’  _

Jaemin smiles back, his heart fluttering.

The two of them are together — in more ways than one. Back in their dorm, sharing rooms too small for teenagers at the height of puberty. Too small for teenagers who are starting to realise what it’s like to want and desire. To grasp something in their hands and not want to let it go. To recognise the flutter in their chest is not nerves at the next performance, but the result of the boy beside them who is always so touchy — who crawls into their bed like a little luminous coal.

It’s all a bit too much for Jaemin. He’s trying to find his place in the world, he’s trying to win. He’s on the cusp of his debut and he doesn’t want to think about Donghyuck — doesn’t want to think about how Donghyuck has already debuted without him.

They fight and spit in each other’s faces. Mark’s hands on Donghyuck’s shoulders, holding him back as he growls at Jaemin to leave him alone. Jeno and Kun with Jaemin — it takes two to stop him. Donghyuck would never swing, but Jaemin would without a thought. He’s a child of fire — a child of passion. He acts before he thinks, burns up like he’s an asteroid crashing through the stratosphere.

He can’t help it. It’s just how he is. Jaemin has known want for as long as he's breathed. 

This thing? Him and Donghyuck — the debut he has fought so long for. This is no different.

His passion is on the stage. His dream, so perfectly encapsulated in all the voices that chant his name, in fluorescent lights and every fan who asks him to act cute. Who asks for their name in his handwriting, for his voice in their ears. Winks and blown kisses, flirty smiles and fluttering eyelashes.

He provides. He loves it. He was meant to do this. He was meant to be famous. He’s as sure of it as he is that he loves Donghyuck — as sure as he is that he loves the world, that he loves his friends and his family and every person that remembers his name.

He’s sure of it in the way he’s sure that his heart will beat, that the sun will rise and set, that the tides will ebb and flow. He was born for this. He has been fed scraps. He has been impeded — ruined by the twisting nerves in his back, by the alignment of his very bones. It didn't stop him. Nothing will stop him.

Jaemin is knocked down, but he's never really out. He’s hungry and he can’t help it. It’s in his nature. 

He sees — he  _ bites _ .

  
  
  
  
  


There’s another side, of course. There’s the glitz and glamour, there’s linking hands with his friends and raising them into the sky. Standing on stage at Dream Concert with the crowd thundering and the rain falling around them. Fame is intoxicating. It’s everything — he wants more.

And then there’s this:

It's not like Jaemin to protest. About things that would be telling, anyway. Sure, he'll whine when Chenle steals his food and pout if Jeno doesn't give him what he wants, but it's easy to avoid being read if he's complaining about what everyone else does. Jaemin likes to be seen, but he doesn't like being perceived. A fine line to walk, but easy enough. He doesn't like them to know things about him — afraid that this world would be cruel to a boy who burns with need.

If they see him as anything more than blinding — draw the curtains, put down the shutters, cut away the light that he is bathed in — they might realise how much Jaemin thirsts for this. They might realise who he really is — or who he isn't. 

Because the truth of it is — Jaemin wants so much, but he is nobody. All these years have highlighted that and the worries that chew at him. He doesn't fit in — not really — save for that he's pretty and he can carry a beat. He's not a good rapper and he certainly can't sing. It's Jeno that has the variety sense of the two of them, Jaemin happy to play off him. Examine him for too long and it all crumbles down.

Jaemin isn’t blind. He knows he's attractive. They picked him for a reason, after all. Sure, he was kind, but it was his face the talent scout had loved. 

He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn't own it — not the way Donghyuck does. He doesn't have the same sheen of sensuality Donghyuck shimmers with, doesn't have the raw sexuality Jeno has. He's not lithe and graceful like Renjun, not as powerful as Jisung, doesn't have Chenle's innate sense of knowing how to light up a room. He isn’t Mark — though none of them are.

He feels like the extra tacked on, there because he's always been there.

  
  
  
  
  


There’s moments where he forgets. Moments where he does feel like he has as much of a right as any of them to be here.

The night before his first VLIVE in 2018, when they all lie on the floor together in a pile of useless limbs and Renjun says ‘don’t you leave again, Jaemin.’ Solemn murmurs of agreement. He belongs with them, no matter what.

When Donghyuck turns to him — live, on camera, something he can never take back — and tells him to never get sick again. To someone else it might have looked like a joke — Donghyuck pouting, tone cute, the way he was when he begged or teased — but there was a solemness there. A ‘I can’t bear not having you in my life’.

They hadn’t even been together at that point — the attraction seemingly one sided — but Jaemin had realised it was a long time coming. The only person who had visited him more during his recovery was Jeno — and Donghyuck had made up for that physical discrepancy in the sheer volume of phone calls the two of them had shared. 

Jaemin would answer them lying on his back and staring up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to Donghyuck’s voice in his ear like a lullaby. 

It was as healing as any medicine — something giddying. Something beautiful. 

Something bittersweet.

_ We won an award. _

_ They dyed my hair red. _

_ Mark’s here. Do you want me to put him on?  _

_ I'm going to Japan.  _

_ Jisung’s getting so tall. He’ll be taller than you soon. _

_ Sucks I couldn’t push you off stage today. _

_ We were talking about you. Jeno says he misses you. _

Reading between the lines, Jaemin hears the words he’d thought were just a daydream.

_ I miss you. _

  
  
  
  
  


It's like this, too:

Donghyuck under the lights, his voice like caramel cream, sweet and rich — candy to his ears. When he speaks, he sings. When he sings it takes Jaemin somewhere else.

This is how he is to the public, this is the Donghyuck everyone knows. This boy that lives for his craft, like if all the art left his bones he would simply wither away to nothing. This boy who was made to be here, who everyone asks — where did they find him? How lucky were SM for him to walk in their doors and want to join them.

This is what Jaemin wants. The way he turns to him with wicked words echoing off his tongue. The way he sways, the way he looks after he’s been singing for an hour on end — coated in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, tipping his water bottle back to try quench some of the thirst that burns up through him.

Here, too. A shadowy cutout like he's walked out of a dream. Dust particles floating around him, naked halogen bulbs. Hair soft, sweater sleeves hanging down. The practice room always feels out of time, like a mall on a weekday — no windows, no clocks, just the two of them, existing in this never ending cycle.

Tick. Tick.

It could be anywhere — any _ when _ — if he didn’t know what to look for. 

Of course, Jaemin knows. He knows the when and the where because right now he’s the one writing this story — and right now he is whole. He has come back. It's late May in 2019, and everyone has gone home — but he and Donghyuck are still here.

Donghyuck stands in the makeshift spotlight and cups his cheeks to press a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s an acknowledgement of his existence, of the two of them. This time last year had been the start of this — after SMtown Osaka, after running through the hotel corridors and sharing snacks on each other’s beds. Jaemin sitting opposite Donghyuck and Donghyuck leaning in, voice a low whisper, their lips meeting like Jaemin had dreamed of since he was fourteen.

Donghyuck's kiss in an acknowledgement. More silent promises written into the lexicon of their relationship. 

Yes, you are Na Jaemin. Yes, we share this space. Yes, you grasped the hot iron of my heart and never let go — whether you were burned or not remains to be seen. 

Yes, I love you.

Today and tomorrow there are no stages to stand on. They’re in comeback preparation and there was a new choreo today — danced to the beat of a demo, the moves footnoted with ‘subject to change’. They’re just getting the feel for it, but already Donghyuck looks like he’s in his element. 

Serpentine sway of his hips, footwork fast. He counts under his breath, his own metronome, like a dancer in a music box, pivoting on the spot for no other reason than that he can. He’s beautiful to behold — grace and power, long legs that Jaemin has kissed every centimeter of. The arc of his body, the way his eyes burn with a single minded determination.

In a month he will be in Russia. 

In two months there  _ will _ be a stage, and they’ll be together. All this practice will come to fruition, and the world will be ready to see them again. This sets everything in motion. The beginning of the cycle, of climbing another rung.

Donghyuck doesn't need to wait, of course. His path is already carved. He works tirelessly for it and is in Jaemin's bed less and less. When he is it's often just a kiss goodnight, nothing more. He's out there and the world is ready to receive him with open arms. 

He shines and sings and — Jaemin? 

He’s just here.

  
  
  
  
  


A month comes and passes. It’s early morning and Jaemin is at home in the dorm. The walls are dull. The curtains are limp. There's a crushed packet of crisps on the floor. He’s sitting in bed, pretending that he’d just woke up to catch up with Donghyuck. Truth is he hasn’t slept yet. 

They’re just sitting on the other end of a call with each other, conversation falling into a lull. Jaemin is choking and he has to dislodge the words in his throat — can’t live through this cycle again. He’s exhausted and tired and Donghyuck is the same, and he has to. 

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin says. 

He tries, and fails to say his name with casualness and instead betrays the worry that nags at him. Donghyuck looks up at him, eyes outlined in shadow from under the damp fringe of his hair. 

‘ _I_ _miss you_ ’ Jaemin thinks. He doesn’t really need to say it — but he does, anyway, and Donghyuck lights up for him, smile unfolding.

“It’s been a day, Jaemin,” he says. Jaemin shrugs. It’s close to vulnerable. Too close, maybe.

“How was the concert?” he asks, moving hastily away from the subject. 

"It was great,” Donghyuck says. He tilts his head to the side and Jaemin feels it pierce him — he reads him like a book. “What’s up?”

How ugly is it for Jaemin to be jealous of the person he loves the most? 

It’s not who he’s like, but he can’t help it.

“Can I tell you something?” Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck sits up in bed, the covers falling off his bare chest, exposing fading bruise on the ridge of his collarbone in the shape of Jaemin's mouth. He's beautiful, glowing with the post performance high, hair damp, shades of caramel against the white of the headboard.

“What?” he asks. 

“I love you,” Jaemin says. It’s hard not to — not with how gorgeous Donghyuck looks. He’s reminded again how lucky he is to have him. Wonders how he tricked this wonderful boy into loving him — then squashes it. He might not understand this industry, this wild world he’s pushed headfirst into — but he understands Donghyuck. Knows he loves him with all his being — that no matter how many oceans apart they are they’ll always carry each other in their hearts. 

Donghyuck laughs.

“Love you too,” he says. “Not a question though.”

There’s a sincerity in it that stings. They’re still awkward in their intimacy — a language not fully developed, better communicated in touches and skin on skin — gestures, not words. They're still learning, for all the time they've had together. But it works, it works for now. Love mends a lot of things.

“I know. You just look good.”

“I always do.” Donghyuck shrugs, tossing his fringe out of his eyes. “What’s bothering you, anyway?”

“I — " he starts. "Would you hate me if I was jealous of you?” Softening the blow with a question, then diving in. Donghyuck’s strategy — to go through with it even when he’s afraid. You never know the outcome until it happens. “Because I am. I always am. You’re going around the world and I’m stuck here. It doesn’t feel fair.”

"Oh, Jaemin," Donghyuck says. The tense line of his shoulders relaxes, a fond expression washing over his face. "That's what you're worried about?"

"It's so ugly," Jaemin says. This guilt. How could Donghyuck not resent him for it?

"It's okay Jaemin," Donghyuck says. "You wanna know a secret? Me too."

"What?"

"Me too,” he repeats. 

“How?”

How could Donghyuck possibly be wanting. He’s been with 127 since the start, been at almost every stop of their tour. He's seen all the highs and lows, been to America, performed on TV shows. He’s got the voice of an angel, moves with liquid grace. He’s impossible, he’s beautiful, he’s a shining star. They love him — everyone does. 

"I think we all get jealous, at some point or another,” he shrugs. “I was jealous of Jeno — when we were trainees and you and him seemed like the best friends in the world. I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t pay attention to me. Sometimes I get jealous of all the hyungs — they're off doing their own things, going on TV shows. Having solo tracks. I feel like they’re better than me. I feel like the afterthought of 127 — just thrown in for unknown reasons. I still don’t understand why they picked me, Jaemin. They didn’t need another vocalist, and I was so young. Sounds irrational when I say it, doesn't it? But it's true."

He flashes Jaemin a smile.

"Taeyong said it's natural. He's jealous of Mark. Mark's jealous of me — that I still get to be with you guys while he's gone. None of us are perfect, Jaemin. Especially in this industry. I still can't shake how it felt when we were trainees — like I'm constantly trying to better all of you, even though I don't need to anymore. It’s how we are. It’s how we get affected. The monster of fame — how we’re supposed to keep striving. There’s no need to feel guilty."

"I’m supposed to support you, though. Doesn’t that make me awful if I can’t support your achievements?”

"You  _ do _ support me," Donghyuck says. He glances up, off camera — the sound of the door opening clearly audible — then looks back down at Jaemin. "Don't be worried about feelings you can't help — don't think they're you." 

"But what about — " Jaemin starts.

"No buts," Donghyuck says. He reaches up and takes a bag of chips from someone off screen, laughs as they — Jaehyun, it’s Jaehyun — tell him not to eat in bed. "We can't control our thoughts,” he continues. “Remember that time you popped a boner when Jeno was doing crunches in the courtyard? I didn't get angry. Same principle, right? As long as you don’t act on it, why would I ever be upset?"

“I was hardly alone. Chenle tripped over the table because he was so distracted,” Jaemin says. “Are you seriously going to keep bringing that up?”

The vulnerability is gone. There’s a wicked glint in Donghyuck’s eye. If Jaehyun weren’t in the room, Jaemin would say more, but he holds his tongue for now and settles with his best scowl. 

Donghyuck grins. "I can and I will.”

“Fuck you.”

“That's my boy."

  
  
  
  
  


It’s like this: 

The crowd roars and screams. A staff member comes over again to check his harness is properly attached, tugs on the wires and gives him a thumbs up.

“Don’t want you to fall out of the sky,” she says.

“How much do I have to pay you to drop him?” Donghyuck asks with a sneer.

"Teach me how and I'll do it for free," Chenle says. Jaemin rolls his eyes and reaches over to pinch his ear.

"Ya. Brat.”

Chenle smiles, sweet as ever, ducking Jaemin’s hand and batting it away. “You could be the first of us to fly.”

There’s an air around them — nerves, surely. Anticipation, the same pre show buzz that’s as intoxicating as any kind of alcohol. This is what they live for. This is what they have waited for — what hadn’t even felt like a reality until this very moment. What they’d whispered about in bunk beds when they were just kids — something that had only been a distant dream.

A song starts, filling the lull left behind after the safety announcement. It takes Jaemin a few seconds to realise what it is — the opening chords of the piano he’d first heard so many months ago on a laptop speaker. Outside the curtains five thousand lightsticks glitter, an immense ocean of winking green stars. The music is soft, but the crowd is loud — so many of them singing along.

There's a jerk and Jaemin's feet leave the ground. The sound seems to float up to his ears, drifting. He feels giddy, like he's staring down from amongst the heavens.

He’s been here before. He’s heard this song before, been in this place. Last year, standing on the stage in the SM theatre, only a few hundred people were there with them. All seven of them sang with glittering eyes, sniffles radiating through the crowd, their hearts heavy .

It feels like another world now. Only a year ago and he’s changed so much.

He might not stand out — might not have a real place — but he's still here, right? It's still all of them, and they're on this stage. They're ready for this. Jaemin has earned his spot, too, mismatched as he is. He’s earned his spot, just as Donghyuck has earned his — just as all of them have. 

Beside him, Chenle sings, swaying gently like a leaf in the wind on the wires. He's singing like they're back in the theatre — like Mark is still here. Jaemin shuts his eyes and takes it in, swallows his nerves and lets it all wash over him.

"Live in sixty," comes through the monitor he has in, and he adjusts, checking they're hooked over his ears properly. All ready. It's almost showtime, but he doesn't want to miss the crowd. Not yet.

They'll make it. He knows they will. They've trained so hard for this — given their teenage years to be here. The crowd is singing, a woah-oh, and Jaemin is more ready than ever. Countdown in his ears, music dropping out. It's Mark's part. Chenle's rapping — of course he knows the lyrics. Jaemin does too, he realises. He glances to his left and sees Jeno looking back at him. Feels it spread through him.

They're here. They're here at their own concert, a possibility they had never even thought of. Chenle slips his monitor in and Jaemin goes to do the same, the last line of the song lingering in his ear, glowing with the backing vocals of every NCTzen who's there for him, Chenle's voice almost imperceptible.

The lights go dim. 

It’s showtime.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


End file.
